


With You

by robotrolecall



Series: The Three Fanfics Cornetto Trilogy [3]
Category: The Cornetto Trilogy, The World's End (2013)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recovery, Redemption, Sappy, Second Chances, implied self harm, resolved conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-23 09:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotrolecall/pseuds/robotrolecall
Summary: He knew after years of not being in contact with his friends, he needed to make things right. Except the first person he had in mind to see was someone who he hurt deeply.He didn’t know how to approach this, but all he knew was that he needed to try.AU where the events of The World’s End was just a bad dream. Fic title comes from the song by PRISM LITE.





	1. Loaded

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title comes from the song by Primal Scream.

An abrupt, mortified gasp leaped out of Gary King’s maw, his eyes darting open. His body lunged forward from his mattress as the spirit of insurmountable, indescribable fear possessed him. The darkness of his small flat alienated him as he sobbed loudly, attempting to catch his breath. He gripped the bandages on his wrists, tightening them as he attempted to alleviate his fright. Tears uncontrollably streamed down his face as they became indecipherable to the pooling sweat trickling from his brow down to his cheeks. His trembling hand staggered to pull the table lamp’s switch. Two in the morning, the neon green bedside clock said. 

He was helpless in his fit of panicking as he instinctively reached for his flask full of Tesco value liquor. Like clockwork, he twisted the cap open and took a deep swig. The liquid stung like rubbing alcohol on an open wound, burning with the power of a thousand suns. Bile simultaneously bubbled in his throat as he retched in disgust. 

It tasted like sin and blasphemy, but he, still trying to slow down, couldn’t pinpoint why. 

The unknown feeling clawed at his stomach, consuming him with guilt. All he wanted to do was numb the repeated mental image of London burning up in scarlet flames in the burnt orange sky, and his means of escaping that felt verboten by his own principals. He rolled to the opposite side of his bed that leaned against the wall, spilling the remaining vodka on his Sisters of Mercy shirt as he moved. He didn’t care. The vague orange glow through the dirty window almost made him choke up the alcohol, but after closer inspection, the source of the light was from a street lamp. 

He was safe.

He sighed in relief as he chucked the empty flask onto the floor. Pulling off his shirt, he used it to wipe his face. Still visibly distressed, he went under the covers of his bed, trying to get comfortable on his old, rickety mattress. Something else was prodding his mind as he peered at the alarm clock in a numbed stupor, absentmindedly waiting for the numbers to change. 

He felt the need to reach out to his friends. He didn’t know what he would gain out of it, but he did know that leaving his childhood friends in the dark after years of silence was a dick move. 

He rose again from the bed in an almost zombified state, stumbling to get the phone book on the wooden writing desk. He turned on another lamp, illuminating the room more significantly. He nervously flipped through the pages of the book, avoiding a specific area, a specific person. He suddenly approached a page that had the number of a real estate agent. A stray sheet of lined paper and a pen was beside the book. At the very top the paper was captioned “Mood Recordings.” There was nothing else written. He quickly scribbled the estate agent’s number. He wanted to rest but knew that he couldn’t abandon this. 

It was a gut feeling. A gut feeling that pushed him to go further. 

He found the phone number of a car salesman, reminding him of his old car he called “The Beast.” He wrote vigorously as he remembered that the agent was bullied mercilessly in high school, and was considerably a bit too “clean,” yet still stuck around with him. Gary then flicked his fingers to a page that had the contact information for a construction foreman. 

That was everybody, right? With the exception of the real estate agent’s sister, who Gary previously knew on an… intimate level. Well, intimate for high school standards. Plus the constructor had intense interest in her since high school. Gary was slammed with the remembrance that there was still one person left. 

He worked at a law firm. 

Gary’s heart sank as he tried to turn to the page with his number on it. The thought of the lawyer alone brought him shame and remorse. All that he associated with the man was The Accident. He didn’t want to think about The Accident, not even for a hot minute. All it did was remind him of how out of control he was. He sighed deeply, his breath quivering. Placing his fingers on his temples, he walked back to the bed. Before hopping in, he stared at the metal flask on the floor. 

Anger began to flow through his veins, just by the sight of the flask. He suddenly grabbed the metal flask, opened up the window, and chucked it out of the small room. He didn’t want to associate with that any longer. 

It felt wrong to him. 

Instead of feeling broken and distraught by his previous attempts to stop drinking, he felt… vindicated. It was cathartic. In the drawer of his bedside table there were more bottles of liquor, but in glass this time. He tossed those out the window as well. It was convenient that below him was an industrial garbage can. He heard the sound of the metal bottles shatter, releasing varying amounts of alcohol into the trash bin. He felt energized as he continued to throw all alcohol paraphernalia away. 

After throwing the last bottle, which was a glass of wine, he collapsed onto his bed, his knees and elbows making contact with the mattress. His body convulsed as he attempted to hold back his laughter. The kind of laughter that compulsively spits out after being stressed for so long and finally an answer you were looking for, or an outcome you desperately wanted to happen. The middle-aged man began to cry again, but the pit in his stomach was no longer present. He assumed that perhaps it was the alcohol he drank, but he wasn’t drunk or buzzed, even. He dropped his entire body onto the mattress, falling asleep nearly instantly. 

Gary King had a big day ahead of him. With his newfound courage and determination, he was dead set on reaching out to his childhood friends. He would live life as a sober man, with nothing but the clothes on his back, hands balled into eager fists, and for the first time, becoming the orange glow that broke into the new dawn on June 22, 1990 that he desperately wanted to remain forever. He was certain that life would feel as good as that day, but only if he took initiative. And that’s what he was going to do. 


	2. (I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title named after the song by The Monkees.

Peter Page was a family man, for sure. He lived in a large house in England and still worked at a car dealership. It was a family business and the baton just so happened to be passed onto him. He had a loving wife and two wonderful kids, a boy and a girl. Life was simple for Peter but was incredibly fulfilling nonetheless.

After waving goodbye to his family on his way out to work, Gary hid behind the large, green tree, anticipating when to converse with him. He deduced that Peter was going to approach his car. He heard the clean, sharp sound of the short-haired man’s keys jingle as he unlocked the door to his vehicle. Peter was startled by the sound of grass crunching and blinked, perplexed. He could’ve sworn he saw a shadow behind the tree from the corner of his eye. He entered the driver’s seat of the car and inserted the key to start the engine. The engine of the car rumbled and roared as he shut the door, clipping on his seatbelt. While backing up the car, he observed the rear-view mirror. 

There was Gary King, in the middle of the driveway exit, waving his arms like a madman as he tried to grab Peter’s attention. Slamming on the breaks, Peter stopped the car from moving and turned the key to turn off the engine. The car door slammed open as Peter frantically approached him. A mischievous grin highlighted Gary’s face as he opened his arms, anticipating a hug. All Peter did in response was look up and down at the other man. 

“...Gary?” Peter breathed, flabbergasted.

“Gary _ King? _”

“The one and only,” he replied proudly, putting his arms back to his side, unbothered. A small gust of wind blew his black trenchcoat behind him. 

“You still have that coat back from high school, huh?” Peter pointed. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Peter hesitated. He was fully aware of Gary’s addictive, larger than life personality, but didn’t want to offend him. He had an inkling that Gary was grasping at what remnants of his teenage years he had left. 

“Disregard my previous question. The real question is: How did you find where I live?” He exclaimed, albeit in a gentle manner.

“Why does it matter? Can’t I say ‘hi’ to an old friend?” Gary’s tone was mildly combative. 

“Of course you can. But the last time we talked was—”

“The Accident. I know.” Gary’s reply was quick and mildly irritated as he subconsciously squeezed his hands. A somber look occupied Peter’s face, aware that Gary didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Look, I just came by just to say hello.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but you kinda caught me at the wrong time. I’m on my way to work,” said Peter. 

“You still work at the car dealership? I’m guessing you still have The Beast.” Gary attempted to keep the conversation going. 

“Yes, I do. And if you’re interested in buying it back, you can visit my job.” Peter’s gesture was friendly and amicable; polite. 

“Pfft, I don’t want the car. I just came to uh…” he sucked in air between his teeth, arms behind is back. 

“ask you a question.”

“Hm?” 

“Have you seen anyone from high school recently? I, myself, don’t count.”

“No, not that I know of,” Peter replied instantly. He then looked up as he thought more deeply.

“Oh, wait. I have seen someone from Newton Haven.” His voice changed to a monotone, unhappy tone. Gary cringed at the mention of his place of youth.

“Who?” He said, pushing down the feelings of disgust. 

“My school bully. You know, the bloke who would kick me and slam me against the lockers and punched me so hard my eyeball went out of socket?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Gary answered sympathetically. 

“I saw him at a restaurant I went with my family. He made eye contact with me, and pretended I didn’t exist.” Peter retold exhaustedly. 

_ “I won’t lie when I say this: I may be a grown man with a quiet life, but nothing can erase the sorrow and pain that he brought to me. Him ignoring me is just salt on the wound. It proves I meant nothing to him, and I was just his mere punching bag.” _ his voice trembled as he finished the last sentence. It was evident that this realization he had was brand new. 

Gary placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Peter,” Gary frowned. 

“You know what I think you should do?”

“What?”

“I think you should have a good talking to with your bully.”

“Gary, you don’t talk to people who’ve hurt you without remorse,” Peter reasoned. For some reason, a pang of guilt rang in his ears. It reminded him of his younger self, and how his actions were perceived by others. Even though he felt shame, he viewed himself as a monster nonetheless. 

“Is something the matter?” Peter digressed, noticing Gary looking down at his Dr. Martens. His head shot up at the sound of his friend’s voice. 

“Oh! No, I’m fine. Didn’t really get much sleep last night.” He lied. He was shocked at how he was able to keep his composure, especially given the antithesis of a bender that he had last night. 

“Let’s hope you catch up this time,” Peter chuckled. 

Gary smiles. “Yeah, I will. You don’t have to worry about me.” He scratched his chin. 

“As I was saying, what I mean by ‘talking to,’ is to beat the everloving _ shit _ out of him next time you see him.”

Peter squinted, once again shocked by Gary’s comments, but also not surprised by his confrontational approach. 

_ “Gary, what the fuck?” _

“Just think about it! When you were seventeen-eighteen years of age, didn’t you ever get tired of being friendly to people, even to those that treated you like shite? Did you ever consider that ‘killing with kindness’ sometimes does the complete _ opposite _ of what you’re trying to do?”

“I have thought about it, yeah,” Peter admitted, scratching the back of his head. 

“But I’m not a kid anymore. It would be immature to just… pummel him.”

“But get this,” Gary leaned forward, speaking quietly. 

“You don’t have to get into a physical fight with him. Or at least, start with one.”

“Elaborate on that.” 

“If he’s in that same restaurant, or a different one—doesn’t have to be exactly that—“

Gary poked Peter’s torso with his index finger. 

“Publicly humiliate him. Tell everyone in that restaurant how much of a shitheel he is. And if he pulls _the ‘I’ve changed for the better!’_ card, tell everyone that the last time he saw you, he looked through you like you were made of _ glass _.”

There was silence among the two adults. 

_ “Wow.”_ Peter broke the lapse of uncommunicative air, his mouth agape. 

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. And if he runs away, then I can give him a punch?”

“Precisely.” Gary smirked. 

“Now get your arse to work, you’ve got a wife and a kid to feed!” 

“I have two kids, actually—“ Peter was interrupted by a loud cackle. 

“Looks like you got _ busy _!” Gary wailed, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. Peter laughed, somewhat uncomfortably. 

“Thank you for your input, Gary. I hope life treats you well.” he said graciously. 

“You don’t have to thank me!” He walked off, exiting the driveway. As Peter heard his old schoolmate’s feet stop the sidewalk becoming inaudible, he walked back to his car. He laughed to himself as he realized it was the same Gary King he remembered from the olden days, except more lifelike and energized.

_ I think he’ll be okay after all, _thought Peter. 

_ If he’s made it this far, he can conquer anything. _

  



End file.
